Avery, Avery
by Evil Author Overlords
Summary: DISCONTINUED Avery, an orphan, is running away from his foster family, and finds an abandoned, uncased CD (or at least he recognizes it as a CD) with the words "This is not a CD" written across the top of it. Little does he know who he will meet because of it... (This story is written solely by Queue of the Evil Author Overlord duo)
1. The Escape

Condensation from the dewy grass caught on my white sneakers as I walked. I had tried to convince my foster mother not to buy me white shoes but she hadn't paid any attention, as if she ever did. So there I was, trudging through the morning gloom in barely white, water-stained, mud-stained, and every-other-type-of stained sneakers. The Saturday sun peeked a little through the pines on the horizon, but not enough to send any warmth or yellowy glow. My surroundings were tinted grey from the dim, and my large T-shirt stuck to my back from the cool humidity. I rubbed my arms, trying to smooth out the goosebumps that had risen in the chill. My too-long, yet tight, jeans swished eerily through the dying, overgrown grass, generating the only sound within a two-mile radius.

I'd been walking since midnight, and finally reached this mostly abandoned highway. Well, I had started out running. Say it's wrong all you want, but I'm sure the things going on back at that dishonestly welcoming-looking farm are far worse. Now I was on the run, but I'd slowed to a walk. By now, I was miles from what was supposed to be my home, but my surroundings hadn't changed all that much. They don't, often, out here in Nebraska. All the progress I'd made was getting from that gravel highway and those cornfields to this paved interstate and these soybean-fields. I'd been successfully unrecognized by the only three cars that had passed me. As I said, it's Nebraska, not much exciting happens.

The sun leaked vaguely above the treetops, and reflected off of something a little ways ahead of me. I squinted, and recognized the conductor as what I would recognize as an uncased CD. As I approached it, I stooped to pick it up. It was unlabeled, but written in what I recognized as a girl's handwriting the words: _This is not a CD, Avery_ are scrawled across the top. I hesitated to pick it up, wondering if it was left specifically for someone other than me, even though it said my name on it. But heck, there are plenty of Avery's around. It's probably for some girl Avery, and the way it said "This is not a CD" it made me think it was a joke between two "BFF's." But my curiosity got the better of me, and I picked it up carefully from the gravel bike lane. I turned it over in my hands, examining its edges. I was lucky to have found it unscathed, and barely scratched for that matter. I was suddenly anxious to find and borrow a CD player and listen to what was recorded on it.


	2. Finding a CD Player

Up ahead was a break in the pattern of crop-fields: a three-story farmhouse. Country-folks are usually pretty honest and generous around here, and by asking for a CD player I might walk away with not only that, but a full stomach and a hopefully kept secret.

I scaled the long gravel driveway and opened the screen door to hesitantly knock on the burgundy wooden one. I crossed my fingers and hoped they were up. _Of course they're up. _I told myself as I heard heavy footsteps inside, approaching the door. For a moment I considered ditching, majority-rules say a man would be less sympathetic, but I held my place, telling myself if I were caught ditching, things would only go downhill. The door swung open and revealed to me a tired-looking, heavy-set elderly woman, still in a wool nightgown, but her feet are shod in rubber work boots. Heavy footsteps, I tell myself, do not necessarily mean a man. She looked me over. "Good morning," she greeted. Her voice was unexpectedly friendly, if not raspy.

"Hi, um, I was wondering if you have a CD player available. I just need to use it for a bit." I held up the CD. I wasn't prepared to make up a good lie, so I left it at that.

She nodded. "Upstairs. But I'm not as good at stairs as I used to be, so come in and I'll point you in the right direction." She stepped back, and I took that as a signal for me to step inside. She shut the door behind me.

The interior of the house was piled with relics but not disorganized. Antiquities rested on top of books and dust on top of them, and the furniture seemed to have been untouched for years. "Bless your heart," she was murmuring. "I haven't been out of bed to answer the door in twenty-three years." Except the way she said twenty-three it sounded like twenny-thee. I stopped in my tracks. "Twenty-three _years_?" Even _I _don't have that kind of dedication. "Are you sure you're all right walking around?"

"Yeah-op. Only reason I got up was 'cause 'a' Dokker, that's my boy, was double-upstairs somewhere, terribly busy." She glanced back at me and grunted, and I speed-walked to catch up with her. She was a surprisingly fast lopsided-limper.

"How do you… live?"

She half-chuckled, half-coughed. "My son comes 'round on weekends and refills this little fridge I keep by my bed. Bathroom's not too far away from my bed an' neither is my well-read bookshelf. What else is there?"

_A lot_, I thought, but didn't dare say out loud. "Not much." I sighed convincingly.

She stopped abruptly and swung open a door I would have recognized as a closet's, but behind it was hidden a worn out set of wooden stairs. She pointed up them at an unseen top. "Up there's my boy's old room. He's got an old CD player somewhere in that pile o' forgotten junk."

"Thanks." I stepped onto the top step and then rushed up the stairs by twos. Each step creaked even with my light weight.

"Now wait a moment!" she called. I was already halfway up and probably halfway hidden by darkness when she did.

"Yeah?" I turned back.

"What's your name, boy?"

I gave a brief smile and forgot to give a fake. "Avery." I turned away quickly so she didn't recognize the worry I was sure just spread across my face.

"Avery," she mumbled, and then thumped off, leaving the door open and the light streaming upstairs.

"Avery," I quietly scolded myself. "Avery, you idiot." I hit my forehead softly. "Avery, Avery."


	3. Playing the CD

That was the dumbest thing I'd said so far. Even though I hadn't given her my last name, I doubted there were abundances of boy Avery's in Nebraska. That was one downside to having an uncommonly male unisex name.

The other downside is, of course, being made fun of. At my old school they would tease me cruelly, "Avery, Avery! Avery's a gi-irl," and my eventual nickname was "Little Orphan Avery." It got to me more than it should have.

I reached the top step and knew there was an overhanging lightbulb swinging up here in the inky darkness somewhere. I could hear a chain clinking against glass and I followed the soft sound until my fingers bumped against it and I pulled the chain. It flicked on, revealing its surroundings with a soft yellow glow. The room was a bit filthy. It looked like any teenager's room let sit for a hundred years. Piles of mildewy clothes lay in random, defeated heaps. There was a draft that rustled the disorganized papers and out of place science utensils lay spewed. I found it hard to believe as part of the same house that I was introduced to downstairs.

The room gave the impression that it was trying to convince you that you'd entered a black and white dimension. The draped overalls were made of grey denim instead of blue and the quilt's fabric colors were so pale and worn they might as well have been grey. I was for once the brightest thing in the room.

The walls were painted an off-white, for if they were colored any darker they would have made the room seem unbearably cramped. It was a generally small room with a low ceiling; I barely had to reach up to pull the light, even if I were a little tall. The ceiling was textured and the same color as the walls. The hardwood floor was dangerously splintering in some areas; other, less trodden-on boards were still polished. I spotted an old-fashioned CD player resting out-of-place atop a book shelf. A wide grin spread across my inexperienced cheeks at the hopeful sight of it.

I stumbled quickly over the obstacles and polished the CD a bit on my shirt. Then, I carefully lifted the lid and inserted it onto the spinner. A thought came to my mind, Why am I so excited to listen to this CD, anyway? I pushed the thought aside and closed the lid. I checked to make sure it was on a low volume, I didn't want the old woman listening in, and I doubted her hearing was up to par. I pressed the play button with a shaky finger.

What played for a few moments sounded like a recording of wind; static. Then came a voice that brought tears to my eyes.

Mom.

"Hi, dear. Avery, dear. There's some things I've been meaning to tell you." She sighed, long and low. "I'm going to die soon." Her voice never wavered, but I was suffocating. She must have recorded this before she died. Duh, how else would she? The recording went on:

"I told your future foster parents to leave this somewhere you'd find it, or-" Finally, her voice broke. I was surprised she'd made it that long. She took a deep breath and continued, "...Or give it to you in person. I'm not sure how well they'll follow those instructions, but I'm glad you got it eventually, because you're listening to it now." She sighed, and it rattled out. She gave a nervous laugh. "With your father already gone this will make you an orphan." The next sentence she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Avery."

Tears fought past my eyelids and when I blinked they pursed through and spilled out over my cheeks. I wiped them away frustratedly and continued to listen. She persevered thickly. "I know you've probably run away from the foster family because you've always been like that. But that's why you're my joy and I'm sorry I have to go but Avery..." She choked. I sensed that she'd pulled away from the microphone, but I could still hear her sobbing. "Avery, Help me..." she said softly, in a sort of whisper that made my skin crawl. I nearly jumped out of my skin. The voice had breathed down my neck.


	4. It Was Not a CD

I turned quickly and swung my arms at whatever I'd felt behind me. Unlike in horror movies, that was my first reflex, not to turn slowly. I had found contact with nothing. My hands had swung uselessly through the air. "Mom?" my voice came out quavering. I clamped my eyes shut. _It was just that draft. _I told myself. "Avery!" sobbed the recording. I swiveled back to face the CD player. _This is not a CD, _the writing had read. Not a CD? "If it's not a CD then how is it playing in a CD player?" I asked out loud, not hoping for an answer.

"Multimedia player, Avery," answered the recording.

I stamped my foot. "Shut. Up."

"I'm afraid that will be difficult for me. You see, I only have so much data I can store on this here drive. I'll be cut off in a matter of time," answered the recording.

I swallowed hard and scowled. "Now listen here. I don't know how you're doing this, but are you my mom or not?"

"Oh, sorry about that. I didn't realize that would get you so worked up. It-"

I slapped my hand down on the bookshelf. "Who are you, and why would you use my feelings against me? Why are you doing this cruel thing to me?"

"You're surprisingly accepting of a responding CD player, aren't you? Ah… the bendable minds of children…" said the CD player dreamily.

"Don't you dare flip the question on me. Answer it! Who are you?"

The CD player sighed a rattling sigh. Its voice had changed gradually from my mother's to a British man's. "But it's always so _difficult _for you humans to comprehend… ah, well, Avery. Call me the Doctor."

"Why are you being so cruel?"

"It's ever so strenuous to be likable when you're just so much smarter than other people, isn't it? Well, I guess you wouldn't understand, you not being a genius 'n' all."

I didn't dare disagree. I never was the sharpest knife in the spoon drawer. "But what kind of doctor are you, then? You're doing a real awful job at healing."

"I haven't really hurt you, have I? Oh dear, you've been physicinjured, haven't you."

"You'd be a real awful therapist doctor, too!" I shouted.

"Ah! Ah, I see. So you're not hurt after all. Well, Avery, I am sorry I exercised your tear glands, and I can properly empathize on that myself, if you know what I mean."

I clenched my fists. "So my mother never wrote me any sort of message, did she? She's _dead._"

"Oh dear, she did write that message. I just sort of added on to it. Or, not just sort of."

My head was pounding. "Why had I never heard that message before?"

He let out a rattling sigh. "Your mother knew me, Avery. She asked me to give it to you at... the necessary time. She said that since she would die soon, she wanted you to meet me."

I slumped onto the bed. The sheets were mildewy and I sank deep into the mattress. "But Mom died _two years_ ago. Why didn't you find me then?"

"Oh, well, Avery, it's hard to explain. The... universe wasn't right... streams were overflowing. You were the last thing on my mind. I'm sorry."

I could tell I was making him anxious, so I changed the subject. "Um… earlier, I felt something breathe down my neck. I was sort of worried there, well, sort of afraid that it was a… a, well… I was scared that it… That…"

"Spit it out, kid."

"I thought it might have been a… ghost."

To my surprise the man didn't laugh. "Not a ghost, Avery. Probably just a bit of extra regeneration energy." He sniffed. "Well, come upstairs now, Avery. Join me. Have a cuppa."

"You're upstairs?! Why didn't you just get me up there in the first place?"

"Well, quite frankly you probably would have punched me in the face. I'm quite short this time and you seem to be a head taller than me. Mm… such inconveniences. Anyway, the CD was the only way to get you to this house in the first place."

I grunted.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind removing the CD from the spinner in a moment, and then coming upstairs, I think we'll get along nicely. The door at the end of the room leads to the next flight of stairs. Now, come come."

I grudgingly did as I was told and removed the CD. I noticed a vaguely trampled path leading to the door at the end of the room that I again had mistaken for a closet. I followed this staircase to "double-upstairs."


	5. Joining Him

This room was lit-up by single stout lamp in the middle of the room that rested on a coffee-table. The carpets were red, and there were a few cushioned pomegranate chairs sitting around the center table. An unlit fireplace was at one end and at the other an old-timey blue phone booth thing that read "POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX" across the top. And from that stepped a modestly-heighted man in a suit. Around him was a sort of shimmery glow that he sort of brushed off as if it were dust.  
He had a short light-brown haircut and prominent features, except his height. He was almost a midget, and I almost laughed. As he straightened his sleeves with what looked like overly-large hands he was saying, "The T.A.R.D.I.S: Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. My prized possession." He patted the blue box fondly. "It's bigger on the inside." He waggled his thick eyebrows at me.

This man was quite possibly insane. He went on, "Well, I'm the Doctor. Regenerated thirteen times, now. A lot of people would be honored to stand in my presence, but I see we've got off to a bit of a bad start." By now he was standing in front of me. "It is really nice to meet you, Avery." He reached his hand up to me, expecting me to shake it.

I hesitantly took it and gave it one firm shake, and let go. He put his hands on his short waist and looked down at himself. "The floor is ever so _close_," he said, wrinkling his nose.

I chuckled. "The woman who owns this house... is she your mother?"

"Oh, no, of course not. She'd have to so _so _much older if she were my mother."

"But you take care of her... and she said you were her son..."

"She has a bad memory, and it's my... duty to take care of her. She probably thinks she's going insane."

I raised my eyebrow questioningly.

He shrugged. "Seeing me regenerate... well, I haven't explained everything to her, exactly."

"What am I here for, anyway?"

"Well I had to choose _someone_, didn't I?" He shrugged. "I always choose someone."

"Someone to what?"

"Travel with me, of course. Congratulations, you're the youngest choice yet. My goodness, only 14 years alive? What's it like?"

"Why? You don't look _that _old yourself."

At this he gave a hearty laugh and slapped his knee. "I don't look it, do I? Ah, you wouldn't believe me if I told you my age, son. Let's just leave it at very, _very _old. When you've lived thirteen lives, it's easy to be old. But the only problem is I die quite often…"

I glanced at him skeptically, but decided not to question his words. I brushed my hand through the gold shimmer that floated freely through the room. It was warm and tingly. "What's this?"

"Ah! It's just a bit of extra regeneration energy."

I stared at him dully, and he chuckled. "I have just regenerated. That means I died, and, well, regenerated. Twelfth death yet, which is nothing compared to Rory. How many times did he die? I've lost count…" He was lost in thought for a few moments. "Ah, well. I died, and then I woke up with a new body. That's the easiest way to explain it."

"But… humans can't do that."

"No, they can't."

I squinted my eyes. "So you're not a human."

"Very good! You're catching on nicely."

"What are you, then?"

He sighed heavily. "So many questions, and all so complex! Well, the short of it is I'm an alien called a Time Lord from the planet of Gallifrey. Gallifrey was lost many, many years ago. Yep, Time Lord. You heard me right. That blue police box is my time machine. I regenerate, I have two hearts, and I differ in a few other ways, but you don't want to be here all day, do you? No, you don't. So, moving on, any other questions?"

This was truly fast paced man. I struggled to cram all that in my brain at once. "Well, you've got a British accent."

"And?" He cocked his head to the side.

"You're standing on American soil right now."

"And?"

"Why don't you go back home?"

"I told you, Gallifrey was destroyed many, many years ago and-"

"I meant to Britain."

"Oh! To Britain! Ha! That's hardly my home. Tardis's my home. Aren't you, sexy?" I assumed he was addressing the blue box. "Well, I've tarried around England for the past nine-hundred-or-so years, so I decided to shake it up a little. Isn't any problem in that, is there?"

"No, sir." I shook my head earnestly.

"Oh, we'll have none of that _sir_ hogwash. You call me _Doctor. _Or more specifically, _the _Doctor."

I nod. "Alright, Doctor."

"Good. You've really got a good brain in that head, don't you? You just don't use it right."

I grunted and shrugged.

He rolled his eyes. "Fair enough."

He reached up and grabbed my hand. "Coming?" He gives it a light tug to pull me towards the Tardis.

"Where?"

His face lit up. "_Anywhere_."

"The past?" An idea sprung into my mind. Unfortunately, he seemed to have read my mind. "You have much to learn. But yes, back in time, but we can't fiddle with any fixed points in time." He gave me a we-both-know-what-I'm-talking-about look. I just sighed and nodded as understandingly as I could.

By now we reached the doors of the booth. He placed his hand on the handle and turned back to me, and excited expression spreading across his elaborate face. "Ready?"

I shrugged. "As I'll ever be."

He quickly swung it open and jerked me inside.

No matter how he would have described it, it couldn't have prepared me to stifle the gasp that escaped my lips as I took in the sight before me. I'm sure I looked more mischievous than I'd intended as I climbed up the banisters, poked at the controls and admired the domed walls. I scampered skittish as a squirrel, and twice as excitedly. "It's bigger on the inside," I mumbled obviously as I scampered around. I couldn't help but nosily searching the drawers, and he didn't seem to mind.

He chuckled. "Oh really? I didn't notice." He was switching levers and pressing buttons in a sequence out of my league. I admired his work as he dramatically did a sort of interpretive dance to reach every mechanism. He had to climb up onto the console to reach several levers, since he was so short. "You have talent," I noted.

He shrugged. "I have experience."

I sighed jealously. He paused, his finger hovering over a set of buttons. "Well, where to fist?"

"You want me to choose?"

He nodded impatiently. "Anywhere, Avery. Just choose."

I itched my head, and blurted something randomly. "France."

He didn't make any movements, and was raising his eyebrows expectantly. I pursed my lips. "Uhh... Paris? Paris, France?"

He jabbed a key and turned back to me. "Year?"

I smiled as if he were joking. But he wasn't. So I chose another random sequence of numbers that sounded like a legitimate year. "19… 77. 1977."

He poked at some more knobs. "Month, and day."

I shrugged and wrinkled my nose. "Does it matter?"

"_Yes_, Avery. Now, _choose_."

I straightened my back, and said with as little hesitation as I could, "The tenth of September."

He jabbed more buttons and slammed down a lever. A roaring came from the large central cylinder. Lights flashed, something shone brightly inside the central tube, spinning in slow circles. I saw the Doctor's face light up and he was laughing, looking rather majestic standing with feet spread apart and standing above me on the panel of levers and keys. The light reflected off of his broad shoulders. Then suddenly, there was a thud. He leapt down from his stance and headed towards the exit. Turning back he held out his hand. "Ready?"

A thought jutted abruptly into my head. "Wait a second. Who's going to take care of that woman?"

"Oh, she really can take care of herself. She'll probably be better off without me, anyway. Less confused."

"You're not going to say goodbye, though?"

His voice suddenly got quieter and he concentrated on an evidently interesting patch of floor. "I hardly ever get to say goodbye. She doesn't need that priviledge."

Without giving me a chance to answer, he asked me again, "Are you ready to meet 1977 France?"

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Would my parents be proud? I stepped carefully forward, and opened my eyes. I smiled as widely as I could, and broke out into a run. I ran past his extended hand and burst through the doors. I didn't stop to observe my surroundings. I leapt outside and whooped and screamed to the heavens. I was laughing; I could have been crying. All I knew was that I was spinning slowly in circles and there was a grey sky above me. It didn't matter to me where I was, or what I was about to fall off. I was happy for once in my miserable little life. "Whoop!" I shouted. "Hu-uz-za-ah!"

"Avery, Avery." I heard the Doctor say. He'd had joined me, and was standing a few feet off, chuckling.

And think; only a few minutes ago, I'd joined him.


	6. A Crowd at the Heart of the City

**Apologies, it took me a while to write this chapter. I hope you enjoy anyway!**

* * *

My reminiscing was interrupted by a shrill scream that stopped abruptly seconds later. My gaze immediately shot to the Doctor, who looked at me, eyes filled with worry.

Currently, we stood on top of a flat-roofed, concrete building. Paris was spread out in front of us in a way that made it seem dollhouse-like and tiny, but it stretched hugely and faded in the distance into the smoggy horizon. It was a breathtaking view, as long as I didn't glance over the concrete lip of this structure. That would truly take my breath away, but from stale fear. The Doctor, on the other hand, was peering over the edge fearlessly, and I suddenly realized he was searching for a way down, and eying the drainpipe. He glanced back at me, then scuttled over to examine it more closely, gripping it and rattling it. "Only way down." He shrugged, and gripping it tightly, swung himself over the edge of building. A little shriek escaped my throat, and for a moment I thought he'd fallen, and I rushed over to peer over the edge of the roof. I exhaled, relieved, when I saw he was descending it as gracefully as anyone could. I gawked until he was a few feet from the ground and dropped into the dirt alley. Then he beckoned me to come down myself. I glanced over my shoulder unnecessarily, hoping he might have been motioning to the non-existent person behind me. I turned back to look at my destination: the ground that seemed miles and miles away. My vision smudged in and out of focus. The Doctor waved again impatiently.

I rubbed the back of my neck and began to prepare myself. Doubts flitted through my mind. Me? Descend a drainpipe? Clumsy, uncoordinated, Avery? I scuffed my shoe on the ground, testing the tread. My hopes faded; there wasn't an iota of friction. As I stalled, I could tell the Doctor was becoming more and more impatient. Brushing a lock of my thick, dark hair from my eyes (it draped immediately back to its neutral position, shading my eyes), I didn't think. I just gripped the drainpipe with every adrenaline-enhanced ounce of muscle I had in my skinny limbs, and swung myself over the edge of the building.

My breath was taken from me immediately as I was suspended in open space, my skin tingling from the free feeling as I splayed my free limbs horizontally into the air, and then I was harshly snapped back to reality when I tugged myself against the bricks with a bone-racking jolt. It took me a few moments to regain my breath and force myself to blink. I was clinging to the pipe with white knuckles and also my knees, but I was still scudding gradually downwards.

I silently anathematized my sweaty palms.

I resolved that my current speed was undoubtedly hasty enough for me, anyway. The Doctor would have to hold his horses a little longer. I was inching my way down whether he liked it or not.

Uncalled for, the scream I'd heard a few moments ago repeated itself within my head. This time, I recognized the utter terror in it; the unavoidably pleading tone. I couldn't dawdle! I was suddenly aghast at how selfish I was acting, and began to slide swiftly down the pipe. I ignored the pulsating throb of fear in my head and soon dropped myself down next to the Doctor. He looked up at me and gave a solitary nod. "We need to go," he said solemnly, and took of down the alley towards the street.

I was still composing myself from my plummet, and with a pang, I suddenly remembered how much I disliked running. Bitterly, I jogged after him, but two of his small, fast steps equaled one of my jogged ones and soon, he was puffing and panting, and I for once was the one who had it easy. He initiated only a short break, then motioned for me to again follow him.

I saw that we were almost at the heart of the city, and I glimpsed a crowd up ahead. A woman at the edge of the gathering had been sick, and another was crying. It was unexpectedly quiet for a throng of its size, and everyone's face was grim.

_What on earth could have happened__? _I silently asked.


	7. The Last of the Guillotine?

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Doctor was rushing forward. I caught up with him and followed as he shoved through the crowd. I got a few weird looks, probably because of my attire. When we were what I judged to be halfway in the thick of it, the Doctor tugged on my sleeve. "Let me on your shoulders."

I raised my eyebrow. "What? No, I can't-"

"I'm too short. I have to see what's at the center of the hubbub."

I shook my head. "Even if I wanted to, it's too crowded."

"Then we're shoving through." He advanced again.

I was less than willing to get in deeper. I had an overwhelming fear of crowds. Not necessarily tight spaces, but just the trapped feeling of bodies all around you.

But you don't want to hear about my agoraphobia. You want to hear about what I saw next.

The crowd was thinning out, and the majority of people were wandering away. I struggled past the remaining elbows and stomachs after the Doctor. Suddenly, he froze, and I nearly bumped into him. I'd been so busy hustling after him I hadn't been paying attention to the sight that was now in clear sight directly in front of me.

A shudder racked my body and my stomach threatened to force up its contents. I could _feel_ my skin paling; losing what felt like as much blood as the body in front of me had.

The guillotine barricaded the severed head from its neck. A man's head lay in a basket at the foot of the mechanism, his glassy eyes rolled back, and his dark hair reddened. The guillotine's blade blocked my view of the neck and body, but blood seeped past it and into the rotten mahogany wood stand. I felt the Doctor's hand tap my arm. "Avery, Avery," he whispered. I strained my eyes away from the gory scene and onto his face, which was filled with anxiety and hurt. "We need to leave. It's fixed now."

"But-"

"Avery, he probably deserved it. Capital punishment is running out of popularity by now, and therefore rarer. It was probably necessary."

"No, look." I pointed to a piece of paper stapled to the side of the guillotine. Hesitantly, I approached it, training my eyes on the paper and away from the macabre decapitated body below. I heard the Doctor shuffling after me.

The poster was right at my eye level, and I read the typed lettering aloud for the Doctor whose eyes were a few feet below it. "_Contrary to prior declarations, the execution of __Hamida Djandoubi will _not_ be the last execution in the country of France. I, your president, Valéry Giscard d'Estaing, have agreed to support capital punishment by guillotine now and in the future, along with your votes. Thank you for your consent._ Signed: _Your president, Valéry Giscard d'Estaing._" The signature was not printed, but instead handwritten loopily in red ink. I had had a bit of trouble with the names, but overall, the Doctor seemed to comprehend. But definitely not agree.

"That's not right," he was mumbling repeatedly. "Not right."

"What? What's not right?"

"This is September 10th, 1977. I remember now, this is supposed to be the last time a guillotine was used in France."

"But that's not what this poster says."

He was becoming flustered. "No, it's not. That's what troubles me. Why didn't they declare it, either? A poster seems awfully informally for a situation such as this."

I nodded in consent. The Doctor caught the sleeve of one of the few lingering people. They glanced blandly at him. "What?"

The Doctor pointed past me to the banner. "That poster says that this wasn't the last capital punishment by guillotine. Was this declared formally?"

The man shook his head unenthusiastically, then turned to go. The Doctor let the man's sleeve go and pushed his hands in his own suit coat pockets, then withdrew one holding a... well, I wasn't quite sure _what _it was, so I asked. "What's that?" I asked, trying not to point or add a rude edge to my voice.

"My sonic. Sonic screwdriver."

I nodded as if it all made sense now.

He flipped open the end and pointed it at the signature, waving a golden light over the writing. A buzzing sound issued from the instrument. He released a button, and glanced at the side of the utensil. "This signature is forged," he mumbled. "Or not so much forged as... copied, somehow." He glanced uneasily at the decapitated body that was at his eye level and probably uncomfortably close to his face. Even I could smell the blood from where I stood above him. "Let's do some research back at the TARDIS," he offered.

I was agreed, but dreaded in my gut the ascent of the building.


End file.
